Dysfunctional
by Humanity's Folly
Summary: "Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination." I just want to eat cheetos and sleep in her arms, is that an impossible combination too? Slightly futuristic AU. Cold?Anna. Elsanna. Incest.
1. Of Alarm Clocks and Men

**_Tick tick tick._**

Tick tick tick.

**_Tick tick tick._**

That's kind of annoying.

**_Tick tick tick._**

Whatever happened to tock?

**_Tick tick tick._**

Isn't this clock digital? Why the hell is it even making that noise?

**_Tick tick tick._**

Oh, that's right. I set it like that.

**_Tick tick tick._**

What time is it?

**_Tick tick tick._**

My neck cracked as I craned my head towards the clock. It's _4:45_. I'm up before the alarm. I'm always up before this god forsaken piece of crap nowadays.

There used to be a time, when this waste of space was my number one enemy. It would rip me violently out of my dreams and throw me back into a reality painfully different from the one behind my face. I used to hate it, now I don't care.

But a few years ago, I realized this freak of nature was much like me. In some strange, cosmic way. We both follow a routine set by those greater than our own existence. We almost never deviate from this schedule, no matter how insufferable it is. It's our job, we are expected to do so. Whether we follow that schedule or not, someone will always be there to yell at us, beat us, or throw us across the room.

To put it simply, we're both pieces of shit.

I think it sucks, being an alarm clock. Everybody hates you for doing what you were created to do. That's why I became this alarm clock's acquaintance.

...

Me?

What about me?

My name?

I don't know my name, I don't need to know. It's not time to go to get up yet. So I don't need an identity.

I'm a dysfunctional alarm clock. I don't follow my schedule properly, I'm constantly on the fritz. When a person talks to me, I'm most likely going to say the worst thing possible. Or simply not talk at all.

What's my problem?

Why am I on the fritz you ask?

They didn't wire me properly at the factory. My hardware is just a bundle of data chips and open ended wires. Can't you see the sparks in my eyes? My numbers are frozen in place.I don't tick or tock, my buttons are missing. My alarm doesn't go off. At least I don't think so.

I guess in a nicer way, the big clock maker in the sky didn't put as much love and care in making me. Unlike the rest of the perfectly functioning big bens and holographic clocks in this world. But it gave me superpowers. An enhanced awareness.

Sounds stupid right?

But trust me, I'm not crazy. The rest of the world is just insane. It repeats itself over and over and over, and expects to get different results. The world is blind to it's own faults.

But not me, I can see everything that is wrong with it. Everything that's wrong with myself.

And it disgusts me.

I'm like the rain man gone wrong.

_4:59, Wednesday November 12, 2021._ _Arendelle, Norway._

My break is almost over in—_4._

_3._

_2._

_1._

_59._

_58._

My alarm clock buzzed and beeped to life. My fist came down like the little hammer of judgment in court. It whined and creaked under the sheer force. It's not my fault, it had it coming. It was two seconds late. I said I was like an alarm clock, I never said I was it's friend.

Oh, you're still here.

...

I thought my rant about alarm clocks would scare you away.

Do you still want to know my name? I just remembered, right on time too.

...

I'll tell you anyway, so you won't refer to me as the alarm clock freak to your friends.

_My name is Anna Jacobs._

_I am biologically 16 years old._

_I am of the female sex._

_And I am a dysfunctional alarm clock._

...

No I'm not an actual fucking alarm clock. I'm 162 centimeters of flesh and prepubescent stupidity. I wish I was an alarm clock though, sometimes. So much wouldn't be expected of me then, I'd only have to work approximately 20 minutes per day; counting all the times my father hits the snooze button.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. The only light came from my jellyfish aquarium mounted on my desk and the alarm clock on the nightstand. It casts stark shadows and dim light on the mess that is my room.

I love jellyfish. They're beautiful yet simple.

Literally you couldn't walk 3 steps with out kicking up a dirty shirt or possibly smooshing oil pastel into the wood floor. I tugged my hood over my head and trudged out of my room. I have a thing for sleeping in only a hoodie and some boy shorts. Nothing else. No bras. I hate bras. My dad used to get worked up over it, but now he just doesn't give a fuck.

The bathroom lights flickered on as I entered. Pretty cool right? It's simple but useful. I stared at the mirror, for a while. I don't know who this person is. It's not time yet.

This person has dead looking eyes and a heart shaped face. Despite her age and malnutrition, baby fat still clung to her cheeks. Her freckles stood out like scars against her clammy pale skin. The dark rims and bags under her eyes did not help at all. This alarm clock is obviously broken. If only she wasn't, then just maybe she could pass as pretty—_4._

_3._

_2._

_1._

I pressed my finger against the bottom right corner of the mirror. My fingerprint was scanned quickly before I pulled away.

A soothing female voice sounded from the reflective metal, "Good morning Anna. O-o-on time a-as always." Oh, that person is me.

Ugly.

The mirror glided open with a soft click. 3 rows of medication and 3 toothbrushes lined up neatly in the sanitation cabinet. "I have r-re-received an update on your schedule for today."

Deviations.

I don't like deviations.

This sentient is Gerda. She is the house psych. Basically she keeps track of our mental health and transfers the data into government database. It's how they keep track of psychopaths and mentally sick citizens. As you can see, she's on the fritz too.

I started mixing together my daily cocktail of meds in a plastic cup. One for iron, two vitamin supplements, three pills for depression, and one for anxiety. "Anna, you missed two bottles."

The pills they make teenagers take and the pills specifically for me. My _"Anna"_ pills. I added water to the mix, " No I did not, your software is glitch again Gerda." They're placebos, they don't really work. There is nothing in the world that can correct the wrongs in my genetic code.

"Oh, my apologies then."

Stupid AI. The government didn't put much love and care into making you either, did they? That's okay, we can be neglected together.

Not everybody in Arendelle has a house psych because not everybody is considered a full fledged citizen. About 48% percent of the population does not meet the requirements. Arendelle is a big place, it takes up most of Norway. At least the part that is usable. Most of it is flooded. The land I call home is partially under water.

I threw my head back and swallowed the nasty concoction whole. God I hate medicine. After brushing my teeth I swung the mirror shut. My schedule for the day appeared on the metal surface. At least the basic structure.

**6:30-15:00 Acedemy.**

**(click for class schedule)**

**15:05- Leave Acedemy.**

**(click to check route)**

**15:30-16:30 Community Service.**

**(Click for more detail)**

**16:35-18:45 - Free rec.**

**(Click for recommendations)**

**19:00-20:00 - Appointment**

**(x)**

Maybe Gerda had too many plugs in her sockets. I don't see any deviations. I narrowed my eyes at the small (x) under the 19:00 Appointment. I'm suppose to go everyday, but I only go once a week.

I don't like the shrink.

They brainwash people into thinking they're broken. If broken, repairable. Then they try to fix things but only end up making things worse. Like covering a gaping hole in the ground with an expensive rug.

Why an expensive rug?

Because we both know damn well that you could feed a small family with the amount of money a person has to pay a week.

Now, what if someone just happens to walk over that rug? Or a big ass rock happens to fall right on top of it?

...

Yeah, pointless. You're just creating a bigger problem my covering a smaller problem.

I tapped on the small **(x)**.

**(. .-. ..-.. .- -... .- - .- -**

**/ -. .. .-. .- ..-. ..-. .)**

Something is tugging and warm. In my chest and on my face. Oh, I'm smiling. That's what it is. My schedule is deviating greatly.

But this time I like it.

I love it.

Because she is the only exception that I allow.

...

Why?

Who's she?

She is my hamartia. My tragic flaw.

...

Obviously she's important, such stupid questions you ask.

...

Well, I believe stupid questions exist.

...

Why is she my hamartia?

I'm surprised you know what a hamartia is. It's... abnormal. It'll just give you another reason to call me a freak. Don't lie, I know I'm weird.

...

I'm not a tragic hero. At least not in my eyes.

...

Do I really care about weird?

No, not really.

I stripped off my clothes and stepped inside the shower unit, "Gerda, play **New Born by Muse**." I'm _78 seconds_ behind schedule. I don't like it.

"I heard New Born by Muse, do you confirm?"

"Yes Gerda."

...

Do you really want to know?

...

Why? Fuck. Such a nosy person.

...

That's true... Alright then.

_My name is Anna Jacobs._

_I am biologically 16 years old._

_And I love my older half sister._

Not that admiration love.

Siscon love.

The type of love that gets you horny and makes you want to fight a seven nation army for that chick. The type of love that makes your knees weak and sets your heart ablaze.

I'm _**in**_ love with my sister.

And that disgusts me.

Love disgusts me, to be more clear.

But hey, I'm a dysfunctional alarm clock. I was built this way.

Blame my creator for all my loose wires.

It's only a matter of time before my alarm goes off, and someone slams a fist over my cranium.

I shouldn't tell you, but what is the harm?

You don't exist, at least not here. Maybe in another life.

But not here.

And that's how I like it.

* * *

><p><strong>So! Here you go. I just wanted to play with the idea. I might continue this if you guys want me to. I'm not sure what to call this Anna, would she be considered Cold!Anna? Onion!Anna? I dunno ^ ^;; Though it is not my main story, so it'll get updated... whenever.<strong>


	2. Happy Deviants

_6:15, Wednesday, November 12, 2021_

_You are: __**Anna Jacobs.**_

_Mood: __**Angry.**_

* * *

><p>I don't like public transportation. It's filthy and opens up opportunity for conversation. You'd think people would follow the rules of urban solitude, but there is always that one person who wants to fill the air with their oral feces.<p>

Fucking cuckoo clock.

That's why I walk almost everywhere. Sometimes while it's raining or snowing too. I like walking, it's beneficial. Exercise, air, and control. Control over time that is, I move at a pace set specifically to reach my destination on time. I don't have to rely on others.

It takes exactly an hour to walk to school, that's why I get up so early. My leg is vibrating. I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

_**Idun:**_ **Have a nice day honey :-)**

...

What?

No, she's my mom. Can't you tell by the retarded smiley face?

...

Her contact name is Idun because that's her name.

...

Do I call her Idun?

I call her mom. Because she is my mom. She popped me out of her vagina, what else would I call her? Father? Creator? I rarely call her by mom to begin with. I just don't call her at all, to be clearer. I talk when I'm talked to, I rarely initiate.

...

Do I have problems with my mom?

Did I not mention before that I am 16 years old? Teenagers have conflict with their parents no matter what, whether it's conscious or subconscious. We're naturally programmed to challenge and grapple with them. It's like a right of passage. That's what we do.

...

Jesus Christ, will you leave it be?

...

Yeah, whatever. My life wasn't built for your entertainment.

I texted back.

_**You:**_** We're out of milk.**

I waited patiently for the traffic light to turn red. A few people were waiting on the other side of the street. They had oxygen masks on. I don't understand why, the oxygen levels are quite decent today. They're not that low.

...

Oh about that. You see, the idiots before us didn't take global warming as seriously as they should have. And when they did take it seriously, Mother Nature was all like, fuck you shitbags. So most of the ice caps in the North Pole melted.

Obviously they made Santa's naughty list.

All of the little island countries are gone, Canada has been evacuated due to excessive flooding and the spread of ice. Except Japan, they managed to build a civilization on the water by studying large lily pads from the amazon and beaver dams.

_April 4, 2017, 21:37_, the west and eastern coasts of USA were hit with the world's largest tsunamis. 67% of the population was wiped out in the disaster. 3% starved from mass destruction of food. Another 2% died due to homicide.

_April 7, 2017, 5:24_. It was confirmed that the greatest world superpower had fallen in a span of 3 days.

_April 8, 2017._ Central America along with 47% of South America—_fuck._

Look at what you made me do, I'm rambling. A headache was starting to emerge.

Oh, and because of all the air pollution, there's an extreme imbalance in oxygen levels and such. The oxygen is still there, it's just not as accessible on most days. Just to answer your question.

...

How do I know the exact time?

I told you I'm the rain man gone wrong.

...

Elaborate?

Stop asking all these god forsaken questions. The group of people have disappeared, the traffic light just turned green again. _23 seconds_ of my life wasted away.

Today is just full of deviations.

I jaywalked across the street and broke into a light jog. The Academy is only a few blocks away. It turned into a full on sprint instead.

_**36% possibility of being late.**_

I'm not very athletic but I can haul ass when I need to. I made a sharp right turn onto the next street.

_7._

_6._

_5._

_Fuck fuck._

_2._

_1._

_59._

_**58.**_

_**57.**_

_**56.**_

The soles of my sneakers slapped hard against the school asphalt.

I'm late.

I am fucking _late_.

An unreasonable amount of rage swelled inside of me. Jesus fucking Christ. I turned around blindly and punched the flag pole with enough force to make it shake.

I don't. _Like. __**Deviations**__._

I didn't have to look up to know a few people were staring as they walked by. Only a few.

Why wouldn't they? A short angry teenager punches a flag pole and yells for what they presume, no apparent reason. They're probably new to the school.

...

Yes, emotional fritz are actually normal here.

"Aye feisty, keep it down."

I didn't respond. My knuckles are bleeding. That's fine, that's my punishment for being late. But it would be impractical to let it bleed. Now I have to go to the school infirmary, which means I won't make it to my first class at the time set.

I grimaced, I'm my own problem.

No one comes over to console me. That's fine, most people know me, and they know not to talk to me this early. The rest are just scared. You can say I'm an infamous celebrity.

...

Because I'm an alarm clock freak?

No actually, I wish. Then no one would even dare to mess with me.

I walked briskly towards the infirmary, dodging and weaving through the mass of students. I'm careful not to let blood drip on the floor. Academy begins at _6:30_, my class begins at _6:35_. It's _6:32_ now.

When I made it to the infirmary there were already five people occupying cots. They didn't have the Arendelle crest stitched into their clothes or expensive designer shoes from some stuck up store. At least 2 of them didn't.

No, they are part of the 43%. The population that simply did not meet the cut. One looks up at me through his swollen black eye.

You know when you stare at someone and they turn to look at you and you look away?

I don't look away. _I analyze._

The nurse finally notices me and calls me over. I move but I don't break eye contact. He's angry and tired. I'm just tired. I've ran out of fucks to give long ago. I may be a citizen but I'm not blind like the others.

"Good Morning Miss Jacobs, I assume you were late today?" I told you I'm a celebrity. She pulls out a roll of gauze. I don't like her, her sweetness is artificial. It makes you feel good but it's not natural. She doesn't care, it's her job. I respect her for that.

I didn't respond, I was still having an optic showdown with the guy across the room. He has grey eyes, they're pretty against the grime and acne scars. Blood was still seeping from his nose, it definitely was broken before the fight. He's beautiful. Tired, angry, and beautiful.

Black Eye backed down shyly, I think he could see the chaotic mess that is my mind. Eyes are windows to the soul. I may place trust in scientific method but there are still many spiritual properties to the world.

"You're all set sweetie, let me get you a pass." I took the pink slip and nodded curtly. It's _6:37_. I'm _84 seconds_ late.

Fucking domino effect.

I sprinted to class before I could be anymore late. _176 seconds_ late. The door was still open, so I just walked in.

"Miss Jacobs, you're late. That's unexpected, take a seat." I love this guy, he doesn't fake anything. He acts like any other person should act is the morning. Tired and dead to the world. There's no peppy smiles or gestures of favoritism. Everything is fair and real.

I took my usual seat by the window. A few people look up before going back to their work. Some were curious, others were envious, and a few were nasty. Like I said, I'm motherfucking celebrity up in this joint.

...

Didn't I tell you before?

...

Oh, right. I forgot why. I don't need to remember that yet.

I pulled out my school tablet and a spiral notebook. I like having a written record of my work. It makes me less dependent on technology.

Someone was still staring at me. Am I really that interesting?

...

I'm not answering that.

I looked up slowly and scanned the room. Everyone was working. I could feel the embarrassment radiating from someone close by.

Coward.

* * *

><p>For the last time I don't remember why I'm famous. Soon maybe, but not now.<p>

Its _9:57_, I'm currently on my break after 3 hours of pure Arithmetic.

...

Yes, I know it's a pain in the ass. I didn't sign up for it. On the less irritating side, the rest of my schedule is mediocre. 3 more classes with breaks in between.

...

Why is it like a college schedule when I'm in high school?

That's an odd way to word a question. Why is my schedule structured like a college student's? The government designs everyone's schedule based off their mental and physical abilities. For example, if I had a bad medical record, then all my classes would be close to the infirmary.

The schedule changes every day. But for those who have higher IQ markings, they are able to alter their schedules to a certain extent. The MBTI test is also factored into the education system, but it plays a minor role.

It's stupid honestly, a government based on the amount intelligence one has.

I don't believe a person's worth is estimated completely by knowledge alone or brain capacity.

...

Wasn't the IQ test proven impractical?

Yes, during whatever time or life you come from. But here it's been altered to be 99% percent accurate. The other 1% become victims of the system.

...

What's my IQ?

I don't remember.

...

I don't like remembering things that are not needed at the moment.

"Aye, there you are", the stench of cheap cologne and body odor surrounded me. I cringed and scooted away. Absolutely disgusting, "You smell like my uncle."

My disgusting pedophile of an uncle.

...

Was I ever molested?

No. I just don't like him. He never touched any kids, he just thinks about it. You can actually see him thinking about it.

Kristoff looked hurt, "But... But it's not my fault, I had P.E."

"Regardless, you still stink", I guess that would be considered rude, right? I don't care. He scooted closer to me, but not close enough to touch. His little way of vengeance, "Well take it all in. Inhale that ghastly scent."

I rolled my eyes, "Sorry, I can't smell you over my burning nose hairs." By your terms, we would be considered friends.

...

Do I like him?

Trust me, I've tried exactly 74 times to scare him away. Hell, I've punched him in the face a few times. But by the second year of junior high I gave up completely and ignored him for a few months. He just kept following me around like a retarded puppy. I got used to it after a while.

He's my retarded puppy.

Kristoff sniffed at his arm pits cautiously. "I do stink", he muttered.

Give this man a fucking prize.

"I see you were late today", he nodded towards my bandaged hand. My knuckles still sting a little, but that's alright.

"That seems to be the highlight of everyone's day." Does my suffering really bring shits and giggles to the masses? I wonder if my blood is still on the pole. Probably.

He shrugged, "Well you react so violently—and you're so... y'know. Everyone wants to know what goes on in that brain of yours." Ah yes, the downside of being the high school celebrity. Your personal life is everybody's business.

Half the school doesn't even know what I look like yet my name is on their lips like an infected cold sore. I swung my legs slowly, we were sitting on the windowsill.

"If they're so damn curious why don't they ask me instead?" Honestly, beating around the bush annoys the crap out of me.

"A few did, you told them to fuck off", don't use that blunt tone with me.

I rolled my eyes, "I told you to fuck off and yet you're still here."

Why _is_ he still here?

Kristoff stretched as he stood up. I could see the sinews of his deltoids as he flexed. He was still in his special gear. A sleeveless suit made from this weird government fabric, it looks like really soft leather or non-shiny latex. Its skin tight and wired with all types of sensors. He tends to wear shorts over it. Kristoff may be a little below average book wise, but he is ripped. His family and education is all paid for because he plans to join the Special Corps right after high school.

...

How did a scrawny little shit like me get away with punching him in the face?

Like I said, he's a retarded puppy. You can kick him in the face and he'll still try to hump your ankle.

"Hey, let's go to the vending machines. I crave carbs and teeth rotting sugar." He's smiling. Why is he smiling? Today sucks. There's nothing to smile about. I command you to stop smiling.

The school walls were painfully bland and concrete. The flow was often disrupted by a chain of lockers or an occasional flat screen, but that was it. Kristoff tried to start a conversation along the way, but I wasn't having any of that.

There were already a few people by the vending machines when we got there. They were looking at the leader boards on the monitors.

IQ leader boards.

Probably a bunch of freshman. I didn't bother looking, it's of no use to me. Kristoff was taller than the fucking vending machine, "You want anything feisty?"

I grunted, even if I don't want anything he still buys me a chocolate bar every time.

"Whoa, check out this chick!"

Hm?

"287, can people even be that smart?"

"I bet she's ugly as fuck."

"Why does she have to be ugly?"

"It's a balance thing. If she's smart as fuck, she has to be ugly."

"Her name is Anna Jacobs."

"Sounds hot."

"She's ranked the national highest."

Oh.

That's right.

That's me.

Well I am ugly.

Aha, I bet you thought I was some fucked up adolescent retard on drugs didn't you? Don't lie.

It's true.

Well, minus the drug part. Wait—I smoke, never mind. Nicotine and Phenylethylamine are my drugs.

...

What's Phenylethylamine?

It's better than crack, has the some of the same effects but its legal.

...

Jesus, it's a compound found in chocolate. Dumbasses... Unbelievable.

Thank god they don't put a picture up next to the name, or else I'd have a lot more problems with this school.

...

If I'm so smart why am I still in high school?

Because I want to be here. Over achievement is for the pompous asses and people with something to prove.

...

Wow, Okay.

If it makes you feel better I'm required to take AP classes. Which are basically college courses in high school, so my "gift" isn't wasted. It's not a "gift" at all, it's a rueful talent. This spectacular yet horrible power that makes up for my disgusting flaws.

A gift to humanity, a punishment to me.

No sex change, pigment injection, iris change, hair dye, DNA modification, or plastic surgery can changed that.

You can change the color of my numbers, tweak my buttons, and maybe even put my circuit board in a new plastic shell. But you can't connect all the loose wires inside my brain. Every wire is red with danger and you can't tell which will set my alarm off.

...

Why say that?

I don't know, I don't need to remember that. Not important.

Now I'm angry. Something cold and thin stabbed my temple. Oh, it's chocolate. I caught the end of the wrapper between my teeth. Hands are for yuppies. It's all about the mouth skills.

Kristoff quirked a brow, his face was already littered with crumbs, "You world jumping buddy?"

That's what he calls daydreaming. It's part of his beliefs. You see, Kristoff was raised by his ridiculously old grandparents after his parents died in the Great Thaw.

It made him a dysfunctional alarm clock, like me. A clock too old for his time. His "religion" of rock trolls and magical phenomenon.

...

No, He's not sure what it's called. But during one of my day dreams or "world jumps", I heard—_dreamt_ about something called Old Norse. It sounded fitting, I didn't tell him about though. Maybe in another life, his deranged beliefs aren't so absurd.

"I was contemplating homicide." The homicide of this chocolate bar.

He scrunched his brows together in concern, "of what—the monitor or the group of freshmen? 'Cause you were glaring pretty hard in their direction. Scared them off actually."

I was? Well fucking good. Hate freshmen. I shrugged, "Both perhaps."

_10:13._ Statistics begins exactly at _10:30._ My phone vibrated again, who the hell could be texting me this time?

_**Elsa:**_** Italian or Sushi?**

I could feel my face contort into a shitty excuse of a smile. This is literally the last place I want to smile in. God damn it Elsa. I tapped a quick response, and waited anxiously for a response. God now I feel like the retarded puppy.

_**You:**_** Cheetos and Netflix.**

Cheetos is love. Cheetos is life. And so is chocolate. And Netflix.

And her.

"Did you know that chips are really just bagged french-fries?" A pointless fact brought to you by Kristoff.

"Did you know that pickles are really just pickled cucumbers?" I drawled through clenched teeth, don't want to drop the chocolate. My eyes were still glued to the luminous screen.

_**Elsa: **_**Sushi, Cheetos, and Netflix it is.**

Kristoff loomed over me like a solar eclipse, blocking all the artificial light above me, "Whatcha smiling about?"

I responded quickly before shoving my phone back into my jeans, "Lollipops and rainbows."

He stared at me with disbelief, "Whoa wait—really?"

"No you idiot."

_**You: Can't wait**_**.**

* * *

><p>Hugs and kisses and lots of love turns a child into a pussy.<p>

Whips and chains and hardcore discipline sickens the mind and breaks the body.

Whips and kisses and lots of love harvests a psychopath.

But what if that child receives nothing? What if the child receives no love and no chains? No whips and no pain, what becomes of the child then?

It's been given the hugs, the kisses, the discipline was seen fit. What becomes of that child?

The child is confused, it questions and becomes restless.

And then the pain comes rolling in.

...

Oh, I'm not talking about me. I'm just talking to talk.

...

Why talk just to talk?

It keeps the brain juices flowing. Why breathe just to breathe? Every breath you take you steal oxygen from another human being and fill the air with bacteria and carbon dioxide instead.

Talking does that too, but I hate people. At least I'm talking inside my head.

But hey, on the bright side, you're feeding a plant.

...

What am I doing?

I'm dying, slowly and painfully. Like every other being from the time they are born to the time they fucking die.

_It's 17:09, Wednesday, November 12._ I'm sitting on the edge of the special spot with a cigarette in hand.

...

What's the special spot?

It's a street right next some flooded area. During emergency evacuations the government used it to make other routes less packed. Cars rarely drive on this road now, since there isn't any guard or railing between the road and the watery graveyard. Just a mossy cracked sidewalk and the occasional post.

People and vendors still tend to wander the area. Depressed people, but people none the less. Winded down alarm clocks who lost their sense of time.

...

Why is it special?

I just find it pretty. When the light hits the water just right, you can see all the old cars and trees and streetlights at the bottom. It's as if I'm staring into another world. Another point in time where life might have been better. This is where we like to meet and dream.

...

Don't aw at my words you turd, I didn't ask for your empathy nor your sympathy.

I took a long drag from my cancerous addiction before blowing rings into the air.

I'll pollute the skies with my own toxic clouds. It's funny because I don't drink. I'd rather kill my lungs than my brain.

It's the only redeeming quality I have.

Drunken words are sober thoughts and the secret I keep is too dangerous to let free.

No.

I'd be in so much fucking trouble.

_10._

_9._

Plus, it's sickening. She wouldn't approve. But like the good fucking sister she is she'd still try to smile and hug me and tell me it's alright. That I'm just confused.

_4._

Maybe I am just confused.

_3._

Lying doesn't do anyone any good though.

_2._

It's never alright.

I hate myself for loving her the way I do.

The murky blue-green was looking rather exceptional today. Everything else around me was fading into the color, like a dream. Oh wait, I'm leaning forward.

Something grabbed my shoulders and pulled me backwards. Now all I can see is the grey sky.

That's not very pretty.

I'm being pulled upwards, the sky reeled itself out of view again, concrete and converse instead. Wait, those are my feet, I'm standing.

"Not trying to off yourself before our date are you?" That voice. That playful voice riddled with lilts.

The world reeled again as I was turned around, with all this movement I might get motion sickness. Toned arms snacked around me and pulled me against its source. This angel with scuff marks and worn out hands. The smell of warehouse and salty air invaded my senses.

Heaven never smelled so earthy.

_I love it._

My heart is about to jump out of my fucking chest and run. Do something damn it before—no no no!

The scruffy angel pulled away, its gloved hands were still gripping my shoulders with smoldering affection. I didn't act fast enough, now I can't hug back.

Eyes like blue topaz, hair of white-gold, and a crooked smile much like my own. She wasn't dressed in designer jeans and tops made of silk, but heavy work pants and a thin cotton shirt. Grime and dust smeared across her face and arms. She's been working hard. And much like Black Eye—

_She is beautiful._

_She is a victim._

"Wouldn't miss it for the world", who'd eat all the Cheetos then?

An arm found its way around my waist again and guided me down the street, I couldn't walk on my own. My mind was too busy to focus on motor skills.

_Elsa, Elsa, Elsa._

I flicked my filter into the water and leaned against this beautiful person next to me.

_Elsa._

"Sorry if I stink, we had more crates than usual", don't apologize for things you can't control. You taught me that.

_Elsa, Elsa._

"That's strange, there should be less crates around this time", you shouldn't work so hard. You shouldn't be here.

_If I talk with you so freely, why do I feel so restrained?_

"Even if there are less crates, they'd find something else for us to break our backs over." You should be at home with me.

I could feel it in her gait. Her muscles are tired, they ache. It makes me angry and a little sad, she doesn't deserve any of that. This beautiful angel next to me.

"Maybe you should file a complaint, change community service to somewhere safer. Your job is already hard enough", and dangerous. Oh so dangerous.

_Hey, hey Elsa._

"Then some other person will just take my space. What if it's a sick kid, or an elderly person?" You're so selfless. I remained silent.

_What would you do?_

We trekked up the steep hill, to Elsa's apartment. The smell of greasy food and smoke became stronger as we passed by stores and vendors and restaurants. Few people lay around like litter in their own home while others move with purpose.

_What would you do if..._

This is the 43%, the ones that didn't make the cut. All the defected clocks the factory spotted before they could fall into the box.

_I..._

Elsa and I stopped by the sushi place along the way, so we didn't have to go back out for food. In this district, sushi is one of the safest foods. I personally could care less for it, but it's Elsa's favorite.

_Well..._

We walked up 2 flights of stairs, and past 6 doors. The apartment building was modeled after a motel. An old metal railing kept us a few steps away from falling off the platform, we're open to the world.

Elsa got the door open, we could finally shut out the world. I slung my book bag on the ground and went to war on my belt.

Curse this oppressive contraption. Curse these pants too. Elsa chuckled from behind, "Need some help?"

"I refuse to be defeated by a strip of leather", told you I'm an idiot. I can't even undo my belt. A stupid blush was making its way on my face, I feel a little embarrassed in front of her.

...

Why am I taking my pants off?

Well who wears pants at home?

I looked up just in time to see Elsa saunter towards the kitchen counter. Even through the heavy duty pants her ass was looking perfect as always. As much as I tried to look away, my eyes were glued to the sway of her hips. The things I would do for just—God, just stop talking.

"Gonna take a quick shower, alright? Give me like, 5 minutes", she was already down the hall.

"I'll be counting", I called after her. Why the hell did I even wear a fucking belt today? Stupid piece of _shit_—_there_!

I kicked my jeans off and folded them neatly next to the couch. Elsa doesn't like mess, this is the only place where I actually clean up after myself.

For her only.

...

How old is Elsa?

_Elsa is biologically 19 years old. _

_She is my half-sister._

_And she is part of the 43% that did not make the cut._

_Her birthday is next month, I want to give her something special._

I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my back pack before making my way over to the balcony. The top of an old rusty fence was just a yard away. Beyond that is a 60 foot drop onto an international highway.

I could commit suicide right here. They wouldn't be able to recognize the body after all the cars run over it. But then Elsa would cry... As Marley said, no woman no cry.

The fence stretches for miles ahead, a false safety rail for those contemplating kissing asphalt and tires. I'm positive a lot of teens think about that crap.

...

Have I thought about it?

Duh, I just did _14 seconds_ ago.

Crap, no lighter. Someone is staring. I checked the balconies to my left, just clothes and toys. But to my right was an indifferent surprise. 3 balconies to my left stood Black Eye.

All the blood and grime had disappeared with his shirt and jeans. I can't complain, I'm outside in my underwear and a hoodie. We stare at each other for at least a minute.

His blazing blunt versus my chewed up cigarette.

I still look cooler, just because I'm awesome.

"Make my Day", the words came out slow and punctuated from behind. With her accent it sounded like a purr, a flirtatious invitation. Or maybe that's just what I wanted to hear.

My face heated up immediately. I can't believe this chick, "Stop staring at my ass." It's not nice to read people's boy shorts. Hell, Mom bought me these. I tugged my hoodie down sheepishly.

This situation is kind of fucked up.

"Then bring that ass over here", she called back. Black Eye's stare turned questionable. Is my embarrassment that obvious?

We're going to finish this staring match later.

I abandoned Black Eye and hobbled back inside. My cheeks still felt warm against the cool air. Elsa was already lounging on the couch in her running shorts and an old tee. The sushi was spread across the coffee table in a noticeable order. Elsa always had some type of order to her life, just an off-beat order. Something that was different from the world outside these bland walls.

All I had to do was get comfortable and put in the Netflix password.

"You're 2 minutes late", I muttered under my breath. Come on, don't ruin your night with your time obsessive tendencies.

She hummed softly, "was changing my bandages." I bit the inside of my cheek hard. Fuck her job.

I got comfortable on the other side of the couch and picked up the remote. Netflix sprung to life on the television.

"Oh, let's watch Rubber", cause who doesn't like mindless explosions and homicidal car tires?

I love this movie, we've watched it about 3 times already. Elsa rolled her eyes, "I'm starting to think you're obsessed with that movie."

"It's cinema perfection", I advise you to watch it.

"C'mon now, find something else for today." I didn't have to look to tell she was smiling. The thought brought a smile to my own stupid face.

_Well, what would you do...?_

Even though I was on the other side of the couch, I was nestled between her legs. Elsa's pretty tall, I'm sort of average. She's 177 centimeters tall.

I don't mind it though, kinda like it. From what I know, Elsa's dad was super tall too. "How about... American Horror Story?"

Because who doesn't love the amount of sex, supernatural activity, psychopaths, blood, twisted thoughts, and cigarettes they provide us with. It appears Elsa already went through two seasons.

"Sure, don't text me in the middle of the night because you're scared shitless." Good thing I barely sleep then. I pressed play, it started on season one.

Two episodes have passed and all I can say is that I hate the dad. I understand him, but hate him. The mom just rubs me the wrong way. I'll admit, I have a small crush on Violet.

_If I told you..._

When I told Elsa, she said I'd get bored with her after a week. That's definitely true. My heart belongs to someone else anyway. She looked spaced out and tired.

That's not fair. It's our time together, you're supposed to spend it with me. Not in outer space. I know that sounds selfish, but I barely get to see her face to face.

_If I told you that..._

I crawled across the couch slowly, carefully avoiding stepping on her legs. Elsa snapped out of it and guided me the rest of the way.

This spot is reserved for me, and only for me. Elsa has even said it herself. I nestled myself comfortably between her legs, my back flushed against her front.

Her arms wrapped around me lazily, comforting freedom yet sheltering security.

_That I love you?_

Sisters can cuddle, or at least that's what the ideal sisterly relationship insinuates. We're not ideal though, at least not I.

I feel as though I'm betraying her trust.

While she focuses on the affection or the connection between us, I focus on more carnal things. The rise and fall of her chest, the way her legs slides so smoothly against mine, the soft tousles of hair that tickle my cheek... I want her.

I feel like Judas. But I'm not sure I'd betray her love for 30 nights of mind blowing sex.

Of course my feelings for her isn't just flesh deep. No, I love her with every fiber of my being. To the point where I have romantic feelings for her and her only. I'm an Elsa-romantic.

But I know it will never happen, her and I. So I'll enjoy every touch and every smile I get.

You know what would make this even more amazing?

Cheetos.

But I abandoned them on the other side of the couch in my petty quest for attention. That's fine though, maybe another day.

_What would you do?_

Something soft and warm connected with my temple. Ah, a kiss. Christ, my stomach was doing flips and all sorts of crazy tricks. Her lips lingered, searing the feeling into my skin, "You're angry."

I shivered with delight and self-disgust, "I'm always angry."

I'm angry at the world. This system. My parents. The big clock maker in the fucking sky.

"Sometimes you're upset, or annoyed." That's also true. Don't forget horny, distressed, and a piece of shit.

_I know what you would do..._

"I just wish you could stay with me", god damn it, man the fuck up. You sound like a little bitch.

_You'd pull me into a hug and say I love you too._

Her fingers found their way in between mine, calloused pads versus my own cold and clammy ones. It's these moments when my mind plays tricks on me, when I delude myself into thinking she just might feel the same way.

Her voice was soft and comforting, but a painful reminder of my boundaries, "I'll always be here for you. Maybe not in the same house, but all you gotta do is call me and I'll come. I'll drop everything for you."

_But not the way I love you._

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><p><strong>Wow, I really wasn't expecting so many followers and such awesome reviews. I'm excited! And motivated too. Thank you for following and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter ^_^<strong>


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